


The Shame of Saint Michael (Major Spoilers!)

by CharbroilLaFlamme



Series: A Way Out: Fragments of Story [2]
Category: A Way Out (Video Game)
Genre: 1970’s, Biblical References, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Death, Foreshadowing, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Inner Dialogue, Major Character(s), Major Spoilers, Mild Language, Not Romance, Not Shippy, POV Third Person, Past Character Death, Prison, References to Depression, Revenge, Spoilers, cop, familial death, religious reference, roaring rampage of revenge, undercover cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 00:30:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15085097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharbroilLaFlamme/pseuds/CharbroilLaFlamme
Summary: Vincent makes some big steps.





	The Shame of Saint Michael (Major Spoilers!)

**Author's Note:**

> So, right, Major spoilers! Do not read if you haven’t played the game/finished a playthrough etcetera, etcetera.

“Are you sure, Vincent?” James said as he took Vincent’s gear for safekeeping. “You don’t need to do this.”

“This isn’t for me, James, it’s for _Gary_.” Vincent said bitterly—he was loathe to admit how much it really hurt. The time it had taken for him to move past the mourning, the workplace apathy, the bleak exhaustion.

“ _Bullshit._ ” James stirred up a reluctant laugh, “It _is_ for you.” He touched Vincent’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve already lost someone on this mission. You’re in no shape to—“

“James, with all due respect,” Vincent said, cutting him off, shifting his shoulder away from James’ hand, “I really don’t think you understand.”

“Maybe not,” the captain said dejectedly. “But if at any point you think that you can’t handle this, we can call it off. Get somebody else on it.” James had hoped he could change Vincent’s stance.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be able to get Caruso to talk.” Vincent flashed a tight-lipped, tense smile.

No chance in hell he’d let someone else get to Harvey.

“You know it isn’t going to be easy.” James said, he had pulled out the file on Leo Caruso—known thief, and damn good at it.

“I know, but maybe he just needs someone he can relate to,” Vincent looked into his reflection in the glass, “Someone who’s gonna give him a reason to trust them.” He thumbed his goatee thoughtfully, he usually tended a moustache, but thought it’d look a little out of place in prison. “Someone who knows how he feels. You know?”

“I don’t know, Vincent,” James shrugged, “But I just want to be sure you’re going to be alright doing this.”

“It’s been _six months_ , James.” Vincent reminded him, he tousled his hair out of the combed back style he always opted for, making a face at his reflection. “I have plenty of reason to be alright doing this,” he heaved a brown leather jacket on over his paisley dress shirt. “The Orlov, Harvey, and _Gary_.” He counted off. He folded the collar of the jacket down.

“This is what I’m worried about, Vincent.” James reasoned. “Revenge isn’t a good thing for a man of the Bureau to be huntin’ for.” He said solemnly, “Make sure it gets done by the book—clean. Don’t do anything that’ll actually put you in jail.” James patted Vincent’s back. “I’m trusting you on this.”

 

* * *

  

Vincent sat in the bus, amongst the criminal riff-raff that he was soon going to be a part of.

The people he had spent his life hunting for.

Now his peers in the long run.

 _Keep your mind on the job,_ Vincent breathed uneasily, _you’re not really a criminal, are you? No, you’re not. You got a team waiting outside for you, you’re a man of the law. You’re doing this for Gary. For the Bureau._

_They‘re trusting you. Don’t let them down._

Vincent thought about his wife, who had been watching him step into the prison bus, tears glossing down her face.

Some time before, they’d slept away from each other, after a minor argument. Vincent had told her—however reluctantly—about how he was going undercover to catch his brother’s cold-blooded murderer.

As much as Vincent hated himself for it, he knew this was his choice. That nothing could be done about it.

And he knew that she was trusting him to come back to her the same man that she married.

He hoped as well that she would still love him through it all.

And he promised that things would be different.

Vincent couldn’t stop thinking of it. How they were expecting. And it wouldn’t be long now before they welcomed their baby into the great big world.

But Vincent knew it would be bittersweet the day it happened.

knew would be a bleak birthday for his little pride and joy. Mother and father—metaphorically and physically apart.

He had planned so much.

Outfits, storybooks he had compiled, songs he had hoped to sing. And now he was on his way to being a jailbird.

Hours passed until the bus finally lurched into the prison lot.

Vincent sucked in air, leaving the bus among his peers. Feeling displaced, confused.

He had heard of risks taken by being undercover, he had hoped that he was level-headed enough for this. He had listened to James’ warnings—well meaning, but redundant—for a long time up until he took that last step onto the bus and then sat down.

There was only one way out—and it was through Harvey’s blood.

_No going back now. No matter what it led to._

 

* * *

  

The first day or two passed within the slate walls, albeit slowly, but it passed. Then more days, then a week...

He found himself in a bed in the infirmary alongside his target. He’d been sleeping on and off but the day outside still seemed as bright as always.

The concept of time had escaped Vincent. Prison was a liminal space. Far removed from any sense of reality. All that existed was breakfast, lunch, work, and lights out. Repeated like clockwork. A bleary, hazy mockery of the ins and outs of days outside the walls.

Vincent expected that Leo probably didn’t realise it’d been six months.

They finally met face to face on even ground that day in the infirmary, both of them having taken a beating thanks to Leo’s knack for making enemies—and Vincent who seemed to always be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

But it worked.

Vincent was finally able to make contact and crack through the abrasive Leo’s self-defensive walls and get the man to introduce himself.

But there was something laughably sympathetic about Leo.

Sympathy was something that Vincent couldn’t afford to stumble into. He couldn’t afford to be sorry.

Something at the back of his mind told him that the ultimate end of their partnership would leave blood, heartache, and pain in its wake. This idea of the future was a pill that Vincent had a hard time swallowing.

With this in mind, he finally introduced himself to the man he already knew.

Vincent wanted to think that there was another way to do things differently. Perhaps one without lying.

But he knew Leo would draw the line if he knew who Vincent really was.

Knew what part Gary had been playing.

Knew that everything he’d known was just a setup that went terribly wrong. A great big scam.

Something Vincent felt terrible over.

If Gary hadn’t been appointed as the buyer...

His younger brother was only supposed to retrieve the Orlov and return it to its owners, but it had not ended that way.

None of it would have happened if Leo hadn’t been there. And none of it could be solved if Leo hadn’t been there.

It all _ended_ with _Leo_. And it all _began_ with _Leo_.

 _Vincent_ needed _Leo_. And _Leo_ needed _Vincent_.

But Leo’s experience with cops had never been positive—according to his records.

So there was no choice but to play the part. If not to preserve Leo’s illusion of control.

There was no room for anything but playing the part.

There was only the mission at hand.

Only the boiling, seething hatred that could Vincent barely hold in at the thought of all that had happened.

The responsibility that he carried on his back for not being there in time to stop it from happening.

The constant penance that Vincent carried in the form of Gary’s old necklace of Saint Michael that he’d had since he’d started out in the force.

It had been a gift to Gary from Vincent after he had graduated and was sworn in.

Saint Michael being—biblically—the Patron saint of police and lawmen, Vincent could feel the irony in carrying Saint Michael.

And therefor carrying with him the shame of Saint Michael. Who watched him settle into his new role among prisoners.

Vincent had spent the longest few seconds of his life in that infirmary. Staring at the metaphorical crossroads.

Going through the motions.

Playing his part and hoping that Leo would follow the script, too.

If only to find _A Way Out_...

**Author's Note:**

> Notes, notes, notes (also spoilers)!:
> 
> — Saint Michael is the Patron Saint of policemen, thus why I used him as an allegory.  
> — Vincent took a lot of risks going undercover. Which isn’t far off from reality. Going undercover is known to cause spousal stress, emotional and physical impact, and in some cases, sympathy for their intended targets. Though sometimes in more extreme cases, the undercover cop in question begins to approprate certain habits that may follow them from the mission even after it has long since ended. They become avoidant, anxious—not unlike the targets they had followed.


End file.
